MiddlemarchThere was not the shadow of a reason in her mind at the
moment why she should not say so.
‘Then I WILL stay,’ said Ladislaw, shaking his head back-
ward, rising and going towards the window, as if to see
whether the rain had ceased.
But the next moment, Dorothea, according to a hab-
it which was getting continually stronger, began to reflect
that her husband felt differently from herself, and she col-
ored deeply under the double embarrassment of having
expressed what might be in opposition to her husband’s
feeling, and of having to suggest this opposition to Will. If
is face was not turned towards her, and this made it easier
to say—
‘But my opinion is of little consequence on such a sub-
ject. I think you should be guided by Mr. Casaubon. I spoke
without thinking of anything else than my own feeling,
which has nothing to do with the real question. But it now
occurs to me— perhaps Mr. Casaubon might see that the
proposal was not wise. Can you not wait now and mention
it to him?’
‘I can’t wait to-day,’ said Will, inwardly seared by the pos-
sibility that Mr. Casaubon would enter. ‘The rain is quite
over now. I told Mr. Brooke not to call for me: I would rath-
er walk the five miles. I shall strike across Halsell Common,
and see the gleams on the wet grass. I like that.’
He approached her to shake hands quite hurriedly, long-
ing but not daring to say, ‘Don’t mention the subject to Mr.
Casaubon.’ No, he dared not, could not say it. To ask her
to be less simple and direct would be like breathing on the